


Turn It Up

by feistymuffin



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dance Clubs, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feistymuffin/pseuds/feistymuffin
Summary: Jack doesn't want to go out, and he would spend all night complaining about it if he thought it would help anything. Thankfully his new friend Mark makes sure to show him a good time.





	Turn It Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snuggletart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuggletart/gifts).



> pretty much all of this fic is due to inspiration from a handful of songs, and incredibly helpful encouragement from my friends, who seem to enjoy the junk i write!! even when it takes forever and a day for me to finish a project. this is also a belated birthday gift to my good buddy, to whom i apologize for not getting this done on time, and for anyone curious about the songs... 
> 
> DJ Danyo ft. Trevis Romell - Drop It Low  
> Ahzee - Go Gyal  
> Camila Cabello - Havana  
> Myah Marie - I Like It Loud  
> Ninja Sex Party - Pour Some Sugar On Me  
> Zara Larsson - It Ain't My Fault  
> Andrew Balough ft Lexy Panterra, Futuristic & BEEZ - IDGAF
> 
> i don't say it enough, but i want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's read anything i've posted. it honestly means the world to me that i'm able to bring even a brief moment of joy to you guys !!! as always, enjoy!

“Come out with us, it’ll be fun,” Jack mimics to himself, brow furrowed and eyes cast down into his glass of ice water. The bar top is sticky beneath his propped elbows, a surefire sign of the night’s prosperity, adhering him to the wood and tacking his skin with something he’ll no doubt have to wash off at least twice, but he doesn’t bother dislodging himself or moving. Music pounding in his ears, bass thrumming up through his body from the floor beneath him, and well-on-their-way-to-smashed patrons nearby talking too loudly even for the club’s loud music all sum up to his bountiful ire.

“Jack, come on,” Robin laughs, collared shirt opened at the neck and his tie long gone. He leans into Jack’s personal space, slinging a casual arm across his shoulders and bringing him close. “You’re supposed to be trying to have a good time.” His breath already reeks of whiskey.

“I’m good here, thanks,” Jack replies sourly and leans back. He resists the urge to shrug Robin off, but just barely. Flashing lights from the dance floor blind him periodically and he finds himself squinting to dampen the harsh brightness. “I’ll just sit on this barstool and lament the fact that I managed to not get run over on the walk here.”

Robin pouts, but it’s been years since his baby faces have worked on Jack and they both know it. When he sees that he’s unaffected Robin changes tactic and instead he sighs laboriously. “You’re making me feel like an asshole, dude. I just wanted you to have some fun. All you do is work.”

“I’ve been promoted twice in one year,” Jack points out, and he winces when the words ring a little too defensive, reminiscing to a conversation often had.

“Yeah, you have,” Robin agrees. He leans back and gives Jack a long perusal, taking in his unloosened tie and fully buttoned shirt. His rolled sleeves and bare forearms are the only clear indication that he’s not still at the office, a stark contrast to Robin’s casual post-work style. “You’ve come a long way and you’ve earned everything you have. But you’re socially starved.” The redhead’s expression curdles. “I don’t even want to ask the last time you got laid.”

“You _should_ feel like an asshole after that remark,” Jack snaps without heat, but Robin’s right and they both know that, too. “God, okay. But I’m not just throwing myself at someone. I’m not here to find a random bedmate, I mean it.”

Robin lifts his hands innocently. “Alright, alright. Do your own thing. Come find me and the guys if you decide you want some company, though.” He takes a step back, the crowd around the bar threatening to consume him. “Don’t be a bump on a log. Promise?”

“Fine,” Jack sighs, offering a tired smile before Robin turns and leaves his side. He turns back to staring into his drink, chewing idly on his lip and holding in a sigh. He resists the urge to check his watch because it’ll only tell him what he already knows, that it’s only been mere minutes since he arrived, just barely half an hour, and he was already late when he arrived. With longing Jack thinks of his quiet apartment, his cozy bed and his latest book of interest on the bedside table. Sure, the king-size bed is pretty big for just him and it makes him feel lonely sometimes, but that’s nothing he can’t handle. By now he’s pretty used to being alone.

“God, that doesn’t sound pathetic at all,” Jack mutters to himself sarcastically. 

He studies the crowd around him, people-watching as the club-goers steadily get more and more drunk, and therefore more and more entertaining. A blonde girl consistently spills her drinks on herself each time she’s handed a new one, and her boyfriend tries his best to control her staggering limbs but the poor guy’s expression is hopeless when Jack catches a glimpse of his face. 

Midnight strikes, a whole hour and seventeen minutes after his arrival, and Jack still hasn’t left his perch at the bar. He’s seen Arin, Danny and Robin stop by the bar a few times to get drinks, but besides a quick exchange of words—“Have you actually moved, Jack, or are you going to try and grow roots on that stool?”—and some disapproving and pressuring looks from all three of them while they wait the necessary minute or so for their drinks, he doesn’t have much in the way of conversation. 

It’s a handful of minutes later when a man comes up alongside him, and the first thing Jack notices is his smell. Even as he turns to look Jack finds himself growing instantly attached to the scent of male musk and sweat combined with deodorant and cologne to provide an extremely appealing cocktail. The second thing Jack notices is that he’s shirtless, and then quickly amends as he lets his eyes scatter over the tan skin that he is actually wearing a shirt, a tight and skimpy light grey tank top dampened with sweat that does a lot for his body, along with equally tight and equally flattering dark wash jeans. He leans over the bar, ass stuck out as he waves down the wiry bartender that smiles wryly at him. 

Mildly Jack acknowledges that he should look away, that the man will clearly notice him staring, but as he briefly turns to face forward the idea of averting his eyes goes out the window. He’s gorgeous, with rich brown eyes and dark hair, a wide jaw and strong chin. He’s picturesquely handsome, so captivating that Jack barely registers his suddenly dry throat, and lifts his glass to his lips almost on autopilot as he swallows and feels his tongue rasp like sandpaper. 

“Ethan!” the man beside him calls, grinning so broad Jack wonders if he’s related to the Cheshire cat. When the bartender, Ethan, comes to him the man brushes his hair back from his face and continues, “Ethan, be a dear and fuck me up five ways to Sunday. The week is over and all I want to feel is the bass, like it’s humping my organs.”

Jack’s mouthful of water sprays across the bar as he honks with sudden laughter, quickly slapping a hand to his mouth to contain the outburst. His incredulity over the words isn’t enough to ask what it feels like to have one’s organs humped by music, but Jack is too busy trying not to cough to ask anyway. The bartender and the man both turn to him and Jack looks away, cheeks flaring with embarrassment as he wipes his mouth.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Ethan the bartender says, unperturbed by his fountain-like face. He sounds more amused than offended, which Jack is grateful for but confused by, and grabs the towel off his shoulder to wipe the moisture off the bar. 

“Sorry,” Jack croaks out, swallowing down huge gulps of water to stop himself from saying something stupid like “You’ve got an organ I’d like to hump.” He keeps his eyes down and stops himself from shuffling over in his seat.

“Hey, suit,” says the man beside him, and his elbow nudges into Jack’s side, startling him into looking up. The man—clearly Asian now that Jack has free reign to stare directly at his face—smiles charmingly. “Jeez, man, unwind. I’m not going to get mad at you for overhearing when I’m yelling shit like that.”

“Yeah,” Jack says after a moment, and the man’s smile widens. Robin’s words and his own promise make him blurt, “Uh, I’m—I’m Jack.”

“Mark,” the man replies, and holds out a broad hand. Jack takes it and shakes it before letting go. The warmth lingers on his clammy skin and Jack holds in a breathy sigh. Mark’s grin quickly turns cheeky. “You come here often, Jack?”

Jack snorts, eyeing him before looking away. “I think my lack of comfort in this setting is pretty clear.”

“Oh yeah,” Mark chuckles, easygoing as he leans back against the bar, body clearly on display and his gaze on Jack. “Don’t worry, though. It’s really working for me.”

Jack balks and feels heat climb up his neck, but Mark’s grin doesn’t falter in the slightest. “Uh.”

“You are too cute,” Mark muses. He turns his head and hollers over his shoulder, “Ethan! I want some shots and I want them now, slave!” 

Out of the corner of his eye Jack sees the bartender turning, bottles in hand, to pour shots with a grin plastered across his face. “Something tells me you come here often,” Jack hedges over the music, aiming for comedic, maybe flirtatious, but mostly it just comes out as strangely accusatory.

“Some would argue too often,” Mark says with a shrug. “But it’s what I like doing, and I’m in a good environment.” He glances his eyes over Jack, roaming his body much like Robin an hour before, but with an entirely different agenda. “Damn, suit, you really look like you need to have some fun.”

Before he can think to hold it in Jack laughs. “You sound like my friends.”

When Mark grins this time it’s carnivorous. “Well, then I’m just what the doctor ordered.” He turns, beaming, as Ethan sets down four shots on the bar top. The bartender gives Jack a look brimming with amusement and pushes three of them towards him. Mark takes the remaining shot and knocks it back, already smiling even as he swallows. Jack watches the bob of his throat and can’t help the butterflies that burst through his gut anymore than he can help the way he smiles back, tentative but hopeful.

“I really won’t need three shots,” Jack says warningly, but Mark just nudges them a little closer to him as Ethan moves away. “No, I’m serious, two will be more than enough.”

“Then three ought to get you to loosen that tie a bit,” Mark says, grinning. 

With a halfhearted scowl Jack does the first shot, hissing against the burn of alcohol, and when Mark makes a _carry on_ motion with his hand, he does the second and third in quick sequence. He gulps down water as Mark slaps some money onto the bar, somehow fished from the pockets of his impossibly tight pants, and Jack doesn’t even have time to debate Mark paying for him before the Asian is grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the dance floor.

“I—Listen, I can’t—” Jack stammers. He thinks Mark might not have heard him since he keeps tugging him until they’re swarmed by bodies, in the middle of the quick, pounding and sultry music and crowded in together like penguins huddled against the cold. Contradictorily Jack is toasty warm, and getting warmer as Mark spreads a hand over his chest, wrapping a hand around his striped tie to tug their faces close.

“It’s okay,” Mark tells him, drifting to his ear. Their cheeks brush as Mark sways his body to the beat and Jack instinctively tries to lean away, but Mark holds him fast by the grip on his necktie. “You can just watch me.”

Jack gulps, hands suspended in the air, unsure of their welcome. “I—I really, genuinely can’t dance,” he admits, and shivers when Mark’s stubbled cheek grates over the skin of his jaw. Strong hands run up his chest, up to his throat where his pulse beats madly under his flesh, and start undoing the first few buttons at his neck. “I—”

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Mark wonders, lips brushing his ear.

“All the time,” Jack says weakly, swallowing reflexively when Mark’s fingers thread into his tie and pull it, loosening the knot. He clenches his hands into fists as Mark leans back, his grin at full force. “Are—Is it—”

Mark puts a finger to his lips to stop the attempted sentence and smirks. “If you’re about to ask if you can touch me, don’t,” he suggests wryly. “I don’t get this friendly with everyone. Consider yourself special, alright? And special people get to grab my ass at their leisure.”

Jack coughs out a laugh as Mark pulls away, gripping his tie firmly and dragging Jack forward to follow. People around them, men and women alike, follow Mark with their eyes and Jack feels strangely pleased to have this man’s attention, someone who so easily commands the focus of the entire room. 

Once they’re in the thick of the crowd Mark lets him go and comes close, draping an arm over his shoulder and burying his other hand in Jack’s ashen brown hair. Jack gulps as his full lips curve upwards, thick fingers tangling in the strands and making him tilt his head into Mark’s hand. He doesn’t need to see Mark’s smile to know that his new friend is more than happy with his company, but it doesn’t necessarily hurt either. That smile twists up his stomach until Jack’s unsure whether the alcohol inside it will stay put, and he’s swallowing again to futilely smooth its writhing. 

“Jack,” Mark murmurs, his smile crooking at one corner to evolve into a smirk, “you know you can’t have fun until you relax, right?” 

“I’m—relaxed,” Jack falters, and he sounds about as relaxed as a chicken in a fox den. Mark’s smile softens, fingers stroking through Jack’s hair gently, and he suppresses another shiver and corrects himself, “Okay, maybe I’m not that relaxed.”

Mark leans into him, their chests pressing together, and dips his head to plant a kiss to the side of Jack’s jaw. “Follow my lead, suit,” he says quietly, right in Jack’s ear. His hand slides down Jack’s neck from his hair and down his arm, coaxing Jack to rest his hand at the warm skin of Mark’s hip. 

“Good—g-grief,” Jack stutters, awed, hushed and embarrassed all at once. The feel of Mark’s skin under his fingertips is like heaven on Earth, a warm, tangible miracle that he’s allowed to touch. Letting out an uneven sigh Jack moves his other hand unprompted to splay on Mark’s chest, smoothing it up over his pecs to pause at the Asian’s pulse where he lets his fingers stroke unhurriedly. 

When Mark smiles it’s bright, brighter than the blinding lights overhead, and before he can say anything corny and regrettable like “You’re beautiful” Mark is sliding his palms over his lower back, subtly swaying Jack’s hips with his own, their movement clashing with the fast beat of the club’s music. “We’re not dancing to the music,” Jack says in a whisper, but he knows that Mark heard by the way his hands tighten for a brief moment. 

“I don’t hear any music,” Mark replies easily, and it would be cheeky if not for the depth in his eyes. “Do you?”

Jack swallows, feeling himself grow warm when Mark swings his hips under his hands, now following the tempo of the music flooding the room. “No,” Jack says softly, lips quirking as he moves a hand to cup Mark’s face. “I don’t hear anything.”

Hot hands snake around his back, bringing him dangerously close to Mark’s mouth. “I lead, you follow,” the brunet murmurs, and then lets Jack go all at once and moves away.

Jack is already opening his mouth to ask what’s wrong, what he did to somehow make Mark shy away, but then he understands as Mark keeps a palm on his shoulder, circling him like prey and moving his body to the beat with expertise. Mark isn’t pushing him away. He’s getting the room necessary to show off, and show off _hard_. 

“I probably won’t survive this,” Jack tells him weakly, turning his head to look behind him. He knows his face is red but honestly he’s hoping the pyrotechnics are somehow making it seem like a trick of the light.

Mark’s smile is easygoing, though, and he presses himself up against Jack’s back for a sinfully good moment before backing off again. He keeps his hands at Jack’s shoulders, squeezing, as he makes his way around him. “You think so, do you, suit?”

“I know so,” Jack rebuttals with a swallow. “I’ve the kind of friends who like to get me lap dances and then watch me suffer.” His eyes widen and he hastens to clarify, “Not—not that this is—I didn’t mean—”

Mark lets out a belly laugh and shakes his head, grabbing Jack by the wrists, putting his hands on Mark’s waist and turning his back to him. “Well, this is the kind of lap dance where you can look _and_ touch.” And with that, the trap song playing drops the beat and Mark writhes his body back against Jack’s, his ass brushing directly over his hips.

Helplessly Jack’s hands clench at Mark’s waist but it doesn’t seem to bother his dance partner at all—rather, it seems to spur him on, draping his arm back around Jack’s neck and getting a handhold in his hair as he leans back into him and moves his body in undulations and rolls, grinding his hips in sync to the beat. 

“I—I don’t—” Jack tries, but he doesn’t finish. Mark’s head tips back onto his shoulder as he uses his hips to drive Jack insane, bumping into Jack rhythmically, teasing his body until he’s well into aroused territory. 

“Come on, suit, this isn’t a budget meeting,” Mark laughs, and Jack feels the sound through his chest where Mark’s back is pressed, more potent than the music’s thumping bass by a factor of ten. “Touch me like you mean it. Touch me like I know you want to.”

It’s not the first time Mark’s given him permission and it probably won’t be the last but for once Jack finally gives in to what he wants, what he’s dying to have that’s right in front of him. His palms slide down Mark’s sides, over his hips where he squeezes hard and brings Mark’s body back onto him, rolling his own hips forward as he does. Mark’s responsive moan, right in his ear, is enough to prompt Jack to run his hands up Mark’s stomach, roaming beneath the tight tank top and over flushed, sweaty skin that Jack knows already smells like sex and want. He bet it tastes even better. 

With another disastrous roll of his body Mark drags a gasp out of him, ripped from his lungs in a brazen jerk. He feels Mark’s laughter against his chest and he pinches the skin under his fingers at Mark’s hip, but it only makes the man laugh harder. The song melds into another, the sound heavier and the beat thicker, and Mark gently takes him by the wrists.

“I’m sorr—” Jack begins, nervous all over again and not even sure what it is he's trying to apologize for, but Mark turns and quirks an eyebrow at him and he doesn’t bother finishing. 

“Relax,” Mark soothes, coming close enough to make his mouth water. Mark lets him go and moves forward, arms up around Jack’s shoulders, until they’re flush together. “We’re just getting to the good part.”

“The good part?” Jack repeats, hesitating before letting his palms rest at Mark’s hips, feeling them sway to the music.

Mark’s grin is Cheshire-like all over again, and Jack is about to speak when Mark insinuates a leg between Jack’s knees and instead rolls his hips back and forth. The friction it causes is significant and, already on his way to being achingly hard in his slacks, Jack moans at the feeling. He’s not the only one, though, and Jack doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling the sound of Mark’s voice through his body like the sweetest bass. 

Their faces are inches apart as Mark works Jack’s body like magic with his own, winding him up in a tense coil that he suspects might snap at any moment. Without a shred of common sense Jack leans forward the few centimetres to press his mouth to Mark’s plush lips, gripping hard at Mark’s waist where his hands are anchored. 

If he thought he liked the feel of Mark’s voice, it’s nothing compared to the taste of it. When Mark moans into his mouth it’s heady, needy, full of the desire Jack is stifled by, and Jack can’t find it in him to be sorry when his fingers become too harsh on the forgiving flesh under them. Mark’s got his hands tangled in Jack’s hair and he’s tugging liberally, so he figures it’s fair.

They separate after the need for air is too great, and Jack takes the time in the middle of panting for breath to let his eyes eat up the sight of Mark with reddened lips and eyes blown wide. “Come home with me,” he murmurs, flushing at his forwardness, but he refuses to regret the words. “Please.”

“Sold,” Mark says at once, backing up and letting him go only to snag Jack’s hand surely in his. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for the Uber.”

Mark hauls him off the dance floor and immediately to the exit, where Mark shares a complicated series of looks with the bouncer there before the tall curly-haired brunet lets them outside with a smirk. The cool night air washes over them, but Jack doubts it'll do anything to soothe the fire inside either of them. 

“You don’t have to pay, I can—” Jack tries, but Mark just rolls his eyes and pulls him close enough to kiss. 

“Haven’t I been telling you to relax?” Mark chastises him, smiling, his lips busy coaxing a smile to spread over Jack’s mouth. Quickly the kiss gains heat and in a rare show of dominance Jack shoves Mark’s back against the wall of the club and keeps him there, following him and sliding a leg between Mark’s with all the ease in the world. 

“Taxi,” Mark mumbles against his mouth, and it’s oddly loud without the noise of music and drunk clubbers around them. “Not that I’m not loving this alpha behaviour, but I’m committed to getting fucked by you in the next hour so let’s get this show on the road.”

Jack makes a noise of surprised disbelief, his face going pink, but he moves back and turns to hail one of the cabs waiting along the other side of the street. Once they’re both inside Jack gives his address and the driver pulls away from the curb. 

Even though they’re both silent all throughout the ride Jack can’t stop touching Mark reverently, fingertips along his thigh, their shoulders brushing with purpose, knees pressed snugly against one another, somehow afraid he’ll disappear before his very eyes. Their night together is assured but Jack can’t help the small sliver of dread that if he lets up for even a moment Mark will change his mind. Mark, too, seems amply distracted by him, which he doesn’t understand in the slightest but he’s not about to question it.

The cab pulls up to his building, and although Jack insists he can pay Mark is the one who hands money to the driver. They pile out and Jack waits for Mark before he starts toward his apartment, fingers tangling with Mark’s. It makes unlocking the door a little more difficult but he wouldn’t let go for anything.

Mark waits until they’re secluded in the elevator before commenting, “Nice neighbourhood. You weren’t kidding when you said you could pay.” Distractingly his thumb strokes along Jack’s, stirring up trouble inside the Irishman’s already topsy turvy insides. 

“All I do is work,” Jack shrugs, and it’s not defensive anymore. It just is.

“I plan on changing that,” Mark replies simply, as if it were obvious, and lifts their joined hands to kiss Jack’s knuckles. 

Jack flushes. “That sounds like more than a one night stand.” It sounds like everything he wants, if he’s honest. 

“This… can be one of those, too,” Mark says after a short pause. It’s different than before. Tighter, less carefree. 

“I didn’t mean—I don’t want that,” Jack blurts as the doors ding open to his floor, tugging Mark to a stop when the brunet goes to walk out of the elevator. He turns and looks back to Jack, something confusing and unreadable in his expression. “I just… didn’t know that’s not what you wanted, either.”

“Now you do,” Mark tells him, and the smile slowly comes back. Jack returns it, overflowing with relief, and leads the way out of the elevator.

Inside his apartment Jack flicks on the lights, gesturing Mark past him and shutting the door. As he walks into the tastefully decorated living room at a slow saunter Mark lets out an impressed whistle, eyes roving his surroundings. “Damn, suit.”

Jack shrugs and joins Mark at the floor-to-ceiling windows that expose the apartment to the city’s bejewelled ebony skyline. “It’s just money. Money is a lonesome commodity.”

“Not necessarily,” Mark hums, turning to him with a soft smile. He smooths a hand along Jack’s cheek and back into his hair and murmurs, “Sometimes it can bring people together.”

He leans in, so slowly that Jack feels the anticipation bubbling up in his chest until he’s sure it’ll burst out of him in some embarrassing way, but then their mouths meet and it’s like a sudden echoing pop diffusing the tense, trepidatious silence. Jack refuses to be held responsible for the sound he makes when Mark tugs him close and walks him back into the living room wall without parting their lips. He lets out a short breath when his back hits the wall and Mark devours it, hands directing Jack’s face, thumbs tethered at his jaw and making his knees weak.

“Bedroom?” Jack asks in between breaths, a nearly impossible feat with how fervently they’re kissing. His arms link themselves around Mark’s neck and with an eager noise Mark presses close, taking all his weight and hiking one of his legs up around Mark’s hip with a hand at his knee. 

“Nah,” Mark replies. He leans back infinitesimally, his reddened mouth grinning a mile wide. “I think I should ride your lap on the couch. What do you think, suit?”

“O-okay,” Jack blurts, self-consciously biting his lip even as Mark dives in again and takes said lip between his teeth, nibbling it. “Mark, listen, I—”

Mark sighs and eases back again, squinting at him. “Are you ever going to just let me seduce you? I swear, I’ve never had to work this hard before to get into someone’s pants who’s so willing to have me in them. Seriously, is this a hidden gift of yours, permanent conversational foreplay? Do you actually have to put in effort to be this cute, or is it all natural?”

“I—what?” Jack says with confusion, helplessly moaning when Mark bends and kisses down his neck. “I’m not—I’m not doing anything. I just—”

“Whatever it is, yes,” Mark murmurs to his skin, then tugs his shirt collar aside and bites at the bend of his shoulder. 

Jack gasps and tilts his head to give Mark more room, smiling at Mark’s approving noise. “I’m serious, I need to tell you something.”

Sighing, Mark plants a final kiss on his jugular and straightens. He readjusts Jack’s shirt, slips his tie free of his neck and tosses it behind him. “I’m listening,” he says, fingers efficiently undoing Jack’s shirt. 

“Uh,” Jack hesitates, feeling his skin flush hot. Mark stares at his body as he uncovers it, button by button, but he doesn’t speak again. “I’m… I kind of come with a sexual disclaimer.”

“This I have to hear,” Mark muses, easing Jack’s shirt off his pale shoulders and down his arms. 

Jack swallows and grips Mark’s wrists, stilling his hands when he goes to reach for Jack’s belt. “I’m… pretty big,” Jack says, instantly flustering at the searingly intense look Mark fixes him with. “I just—I know you said you wanted me to… um, do that to you, and… you need to know what you’re getting into.”

“Well, I felt the evidence of that at the club,” Mark chortles, his eyes gleaming as he takes in Jack’s bare chest, and then roaming lower. “But now I’m curious on a whole other level. How big _are_ you, suit?”

“Do—do you really need a number?” Jack hedges, resisting the urge to fidget.

“Yes,” Mark says at once, although he sounds way too amused for Jack’s liking. 

He swallows again and looks away, down at their feet. He couldn’t hold Mark’s eyes to save his life. “Over… nine,” Jack finally mutters.

It’s unexpected when Mark sighs happily and presses him back into the wall, kissing his way down Jack’s chest until he’s on his knees, mouthing at the Irishman’s stomach. “If I know you—and I’m pretty sure I know you at least a little—you’re being modest, and “over nine” means “ten”, which is honestly the single greatest thing you’ve said to me all night.” He looks up at Jack and grins, nipping at the skin on his flat belly. “And here I thought all that money and workaholic attitude was compensation for something.”

Jack barks with laughter, letting his hands run through Mark’s hair. “Nope, just your standard guy who works too much.”

“With a _huge_ cock,” Mark adds pleasantly, hungrily, and this time when he reaches for his belt Jack lets him. “My opinion hasn’t changed, though. I still want to ride you on the couch, big dick withstanding.”

“Okay,” Jack says, gulping even as he smiles. Mark smiles back and uses his grip on Jack’s belt loops to stand and tug him towards the couch. “You should slow down enough to let me undress you, though.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” the brunet grins. “Time between now and me getting fucked so hard that brain death occurs is time wasted.”

With another short swallow Jack takes a handful of Mark’s shirt and quickly divests him of it. “I don’t believe I gave you a choice,” he says, adding some force to the words, tentative as it is. “I want you naked.”

Mark’s grin widens, and he lets Jack go to work on his own belt. “You got it, baby. Turnabout’s fair, though, wouldn’t you say?”

“Sure,” Jack says, nerves clawing his insides apart. He unfastens his slacks with jittery fingers and shucks them off his legs as Mark does the same, and before he can get too nervous to not follow through he discards his underwear too, belatedly remembering his socks. When he looks up again Mark is staring, hands paused with his jeans halfway down his legs and his eyes fixed on Jack’s half-hard cock with enough heat to give both his ego and his dick some healthy inflation. 

“Oh, I am so fucking glad I met you,” Mark says blissfully, resuming his undressing with efficiency. He peels himself out of his pants and tugs off his socks and underwear, and then they’re both naked and it’s a fraction of a second before Jack is reaching out to get his hands on Mark’s bare skin. 

Mark meets him halfway and gets an arm around Jack’s back with the other grabbing his jaw, their mouths meeting harsh and wet in the silence. With cautious, unsteady movements Jack gets his arms around Mark’s neck, only for Mark to turn them and shove Jack somewhat delicately backwards to sit on the couch. Jack falls back with a huff of surprise and glances up but his gaze is caught by Mark’s cock, flushed, hard and eager and right at eye level. Before he can do anything with it, though, Mark’s shuffling forward and planting his knees down on either side of Jack’s thighs, straddling him.

“Much better,” Mark sighs, sitting back and lifting a hand to cup Jack’s face. Tenderly he coaxes his mouth to open as he leans down, tongue brushing Jack’s lips like the sweetest request, and distantly Jack wonders if this is anything like blasphemy—because something that feels this good has to be bad, right? 

Pale fingers ride up and over Mark’s hips, caressing the skin all the way up and across ribs until his fingertips brush against small brown nipples. There he pauses, flicking his nail against the perky flesh and he feels Mark’s responsive jerk like it was his own, the quick flash of pleasure in his eyes, the need that only seems to compound with each touch. 

“Have you got anything?” Jack asks, Mark’s lips to his as they share laboured breaths. “I do, if you don’t, in my bedr—”

“Way ahead of you, sweetheart,” Mark replies smugly, and he bends over backwards to reach his jeans where they lay on the floor. The new position exposes him, muscled thighs straining and abs flexing at the stretch and with his body curved like that, arched so beautifully, Jack has absolutely no shame over curling his hand around Mark’s cock. It’s above average-sized, slightly curved and flushed red with eagerness, beading precum from its tip as he strokes it upwards once, firm and jarring. 

Mark’s whole body shivers, a consuming shake from head to toe that makes Jack wish he was already inside him, experiencing the same feeling as Mark would no doubt clench around him. The thought reminds him of his immediate future and he’s flushing all over again as Mark sits upright once more, though not quite as steady as before, with a couple packets of lube. 

“Before you ask,” Mark pipes up, even as Jack’s mouth is opening, “no, I don’t have a condom that will fit you. And tangentially, I don’t particularly want to use one either.” His mouth bursts into a grin. “Do you mind?” 

"Do... Do I mind?" Jack says haltingly, eyeing Mark's yearning expression. He has no personal preference either way, and if not using a condom is something that Mark wants, why wouldn't he give it to him? "N-no, it's fine. We don't have to use one."

Mark beams, shifting his body and lifting his hips. "This night just keeps getting better and better." Then, ripping open a lube packet with his teeth, he coats his right hand in lube and leans forward, bracing his other hand on the back of the couch as he reaches between his legs. 

Jack watches in aroused shock as Mark's hand disappears, only to fixate on his partner's face when Mark's eyes go misty with pleasure. His lips part gently, a soft exhalation passing them as he penetrates himself and Jack watches with hunger, his lungs feeling tight and small as he tries to draw breath. 

"I can't imagine the picture I must make," Mark says unevenly, his voice pitching with every flex of his forearm. He pulls his hand away and reaches behind him instead, likely getting a much better angle, and faintly Jack can hear the sounds of his ministrations, the squelching contact that's putting such a lovely expression on Mark's flushed face.

Jack slides his palms up the insides of Mark's thighs and curls his hand around his cock, giving it a slow tug that causes Mark to buck and curse harshly. "You've got no idea what the picture you make is doing to me," Jack says hoarsely. His eyes are everywhere as he takes in Mark's hips, slowly gyrating back onto his hand, his hair bouncing slightly where it hangs over his forehead. The strong curve of his shoulders and the close proximity of his beautiful eyes, so close that already Jack is completely undone, eyes that stare intensely back into his as Mark fucks himself, stretches himself for Jack.

"Good," Mark pants, and Jack doesn't think, he just leans forward and kisses him. The brunet moans into his mouth and Jack feels his body tremble, feels Mark's knees squeeze his thighs helplessly as Jack finds and strokes his cock, giving it a few pumps before moving on. Jack's hands have grown minds of their own and they roam over Mark's hips, spreading his cheeks apart with a firm grip that does nothing but worsen his shaking, likely aiding him in letting his fingers reach deeper.

"Is it good?" Jack asks foggily as they part, Mark hiding his face in Jack's neck as his sounds develop into a drawn out whine. His pleasure is irrefutable but Jack still wants to hear it from Mark's own mouth, still wants that confirmation that he's helping and not hindering.

"So... So good," Mark whispers, forehead damp with sweat where it rests on his bare shoulder. "I'm nowhere near ready yet but I've got a feeling I won't last as long as I need to, the way I'm going."

"What do you want to do, then?" Jack queries softly, his fingers pressing blunt nails into Mark's ass and making him groan. 

The Korean nods towards the couch cushion to Jack's left, where the second lube packet lies patiently. "Slick yourself up," Mark commands breathily. "I want you in me five minutes ago."

He doesn't need to be told twice, and Jack's fumbling fingers make quick work of the packet, drooling its entire contents onto his cock. He strokes himself a couple times to spread it and his whole body jerks from the abrupt surge of pleasure it causes, but he makes himself stop when Mark shifts his weight and pulls his hands away. 

Shuffling forward Mark leans a hand on Jack's shoulder as he lines up, Jack helpfully directing his dick into a perfectly upright position. As he shifts into place Mark's cock bobs tantalizingly in front of his face but he ignores it, promising it future attention once Mark is properly... settled. 

"Go slow," Jack advises worriedly, feeling his cock pressed to Mark's ass with something like awed reverence. Mark nods wordlessly and unhurriedly lowers himself an unsteady inch at a time, pressing down until the head of Jack's cock breaches him.

The sound Jack makes is short, cut off mid-utter as he feels the hot, soft tightness surrounding him, and above him Mark's sound is no better. His head is tipped back, face to the ceiling and fingers clenching hard into Jack's shoulders, and on shaking legs he lowers himself bit by torturous bit until he's seated firmly on Jack's lap.

His breaths shuddering in and out in great heaves, Jack looks up at Mark's blissed out expression and can't help the sudden rush of fondness he feels. His hands coax a tender path up Mark's sides, easing him to bend down and meet Jack's lips with his and Mark complies all too easily, as if he'd been waiting for the chance all this time. When he leans into Jack's hands they both moan in tandem at the subtle slide of Jack's cock inside him, the drag brutal in its intensity.

Cautious as ever Jack gives a slow, teasing roll of his hips before they've even parted and Mark moans sweetly into his mouth, his thick fingers gripping at Jack's skin where his hands have anchored. Another languid roll of his hips has Mark gasping out his next breath, hunching his body over Jack to cling to his neck and shoulders with desperation.

"God, you've got to move," Mark whimpers. He's shaking, slight tremors running up and down his body, and Jack is a second away from asking if he's okay when Mark adds in a broken voice, "Please move, _please_."

Obligingly Jack moves, gyrating his hips up and back and up again, slipping only partway out of Mark before sliding smoothly back in again. Unsurprisingly Jack feels the slick pressure along his dick as total sensual bliss overriding his body, urging the hot swathe of pleasure through his guts like a bellows' gust to fire. The angle must be pretty good because right away Mark sighs out a moan, burning lips pressed to Jack's shoulder as he gets out, "Oh, my _god_ , yeah," and spreads his legs as wide as they'll go. 

With his ass flush to Jack's groin there isn't much wiggle room for big thrusts, but Jack still finds that he's got decent maneuverability and he uses it fully, grabbing Mark by the hips and jerking him down onto Jack's cock with as much force as he can muster as he bucks up. Mark's head snaps up in surprise and he garbles out a jerky, " _O-oh_ ," before Jack is rhythmically grinding and bucking up into him, feet planted on the floor and utilizing his firm hold on Mark's body to give them both the pleasure they're driving for.

Mark seems to find this greatly to his satisfaction and he needs no encouragement before he's bouncing himself down onto each one of Jack's thrusts with soft noises. They're almost like small secrets leaked into Jack's ear, whispered confessions of pleasure that make Jack's toes curl and before he can stop himself Jack is echoing them, little words or sounds that escape him in a mindless pattern. 

"Fuck, suit," Mark gets out, weak and strained, and Jack doubles the ferocity of his movements to get that beautiful voice to break. Mark's face lifts, head rocking back over his shoulders as he sighs out a heavy, guttural noise that ropes Jack into a frenzy, wildly bucking his body up into Mark until he's sure he must be hurting him. 

Mark doesn't tell him to stop, though. "Fuck," the Korean curses again, his mouth to Jack's ear, and then he curves his back and tilts his hips and Jack sees _stars_. 

"Shit," Jack chokes out, and his rhythm is shattered as the new angle squeezes him in all the right ways. He pauses fractionally, trying to gather his wits that've been scattered like marbles, and then starts a frantic pattern of rabbity thrusts dotted with hard rolls of his hips that sends both of them shaking.

Mark's teeth bite into his shoulder on a particularly violent thrust that has his whole body jerking, a sharp cry ripped from his chest. Jack's hands relinquish their unyielding grip on Mark's hips and instead rub up his back, caressing as much as he's able while pushing them both for fulfillment. Still, he feels the tremble in Mark's shoulders, feels the shake of his body, and he slows himself enough to ask dazedly, "Are you okay?"

"Don't—do _not_ stop," Mark says, fierce and panting, and lifts his face to meet Jack's eyes. Warm brown bores into him, shredding him into pieces that float away like autumn leaves in a gale, and as he speeds up his rhythm Jack wonders distractedly when it was that he lost himself so assuredly in this incredible person.

His musings are put on hold when Mark moans noisily, fingernails clawing up pale shoulders as he bounces in Jack's lap. "Almost," he says breathlessly, his voice raw with feeling and exertion, and Jack feels it when his movements change, when they become demanding and furious, overflowing with primal need.

"Me too," Jack whispers, just for something to say, his throat too dry for much else. He brings a hand to the back of Mark's neck and tugs him down the few inches to bring their lips together, and as his hips fuck up into Mark his tongue breaches the security of Mark's mouth, taking every single sound that he gives and keeping it for his own. 

His orgasm crashes through him with vigour but not necessarily speed, creeping up on him in great waves that finally break over him and wash away everything but the feeling of Mark's body above him, Mark's heavy moans and breathy gasps as his hips continue to thrust up, aided by the added slickness of the mess Jack's left inside him. Mark must know, must have felt it when Jack found his release because he clings to Jack's face and whimpers into their kiss, his body trembling even as he stiffens and comes, patterning Jack's chest and the underside of his chin with sticky stripes.

It takes a minute for them to separate, for Mark to stop making soft, needy noises against his tongue that only serve to rile Jack up again, but when they do neither of them moves to get up. Jack lifts his hand to stroke Mark's sweaty hair out of his face, smiling abashedly at Mark's sly, if tired, grin.

"Definitely not compensating for something," Mark muses, eyes sparkling with mischief. Jack shrugs nonchalantly, biting his lip in a futile attempt to smother his laughter, and after giving him a wry look Mark bends to place a tender, lingering kiss to his growing smile.


End file.
